Run
by Ms.TamborineMan
Summary: Spock mysteriously disappears. Nobody knows how or why. Jim, haunted, becomes obsessed with personal fitness. He feels as if he's chasing a memory that he will never retain...or will he? McKirk, possible McSpirk in later chapters.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Spock! Spock!"

Jim was gasping. His lungs burned, begging for oxygen. His legs felt like they were tearing apart, his tendons ripping and his knees aching. The dizziness in his head threatened to overcome him, and he found himself stumbling, disoriented. There was something…something he had to do. What was it?

A bright light suddenly appeared, and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes. Instantly, he knew what was happening.

"No!" he shouted.

That was it.

That was all he remembered.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

For days, the crew of the Enterprise stumbled around in a fog of confusion. No one aboard the bright and immaculately clean starship knew exactly what was going on. No one knew where they had just been, or what had happened there.

Kirk had woken up in the Captain's chair. Everyone around him was rubbing his or her forehead, glancing around the bridge in complete and utter bewilderment. They murmured amongst themselves, assessing the situation that they had now landed themselves in. The consensus was mutual: nobody knew anything. Jim himself tried to remember, giving himself a whopping headache. It hurt. It hurt to remember.

"Where are we?" Jim asked voice raspy, as if he'd just been sleeping soundly. That was what this felt like—a dream that he wished only to end. "Sulu? Where are we?"

Sulu glanced at him with blank eyes. His eyebrows hitched together. "Ca-Captain?"

"Yeah, duh. Come on, tell me."

Sulu glanced to the screen in front of him. "I…I don't know. I don't know where we are."

The /Captain shook his head, stressed. "Spock?" he asked. But when he looked over, his first officer wasn't there.

"Where's Spock?" Jim demanded. Wildly, he glanced around the Bridge. No one would meet his eyes.

* * *

It was a couple of hours before Jim made a decision. Everyone on the bridge seemed to have forgotten how to work their instruments at each of their stations, and it took Sulu a full five hours to finally find out where they were.

Three hours before that, however, Jim made an all-call. He tried not to pay attention to Uhura, who was crying and softly muttering to herself in a language he didn't know.

"I know that you all must be concerned. I am too. As of right now, we are trying to figure out what exactly is going on. One person, Commander Spock, is missing. If you see Mr. Spock, please have him report to the bridge. If you notice anyone else missing, I ask you to report their absence. And if you have any information on where we just departed from, or our reason for being there, tell us. I don't care what rank you are. If you know something, get your ass to the bridge immediately. Kirk out."

* * *

When Sulu and Checkov combined got the navigation system back working, they assessed where they were.

"There are no nearby planets. But we're still in the Milky Way. The nearest planet is Earth and we are about a three-day's journey from it."

"God," Jim muttered, looking at the screen over Sulu's shoulder. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"No clue, sir." Sulu met his eyes briefly, then turned his attention back to the computer.

Again, Jim tried to remember. Nothing resurfaced, nothing except for a painful headache. Finally, he straightened up. "Checkov, you have the con. But don't do anything. I'll be right back. I need to talk to Dr. McCoy.

* * *

Dr. McCoy was busier than Jim had expected he would be. His brown eyebrows were furrowed together, lips pursed in irritation.

"The general diagnosis? Amnesia." He said, before the sliding door could swish behind him. "Imagine that. It's unreal!"

"I've got a headache. Have any Ibuprofen?"

McCoy strode over to a cabinet, opened it, got something out, then slammed it closed. He turned, and Jim saw that he was now very focused on opening a pill bottle. The tablets inside rattled as he twisted the top off.

"Jim, does anyone remember anything?" McCoy's blue eyes met his. "Do you remember anything?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I…"

McCoy thrust out a hand. "Here" He said. In his palm sat two white pills. Jim took them, swallowing both without water. "I know you hate the hypos."

"Spock's missing," he announced, a bitter trace of pill biting the back of his throat.

McCoy was about to twist the top back on the pill bottle, but he stopped. "What?"

"Spock. He's…gone."

The bottle dropped. Tablets noisily spilled across the linoleum.

"That ain't possible." McCoy said. "He's got to be somewhere on this hunk of junk."

Something told Jim that he was wrong.

What should I do, Bones? How can I report this to Star Fleet?"

"I don't know, Jim, but you're going to have to. What else are we going to do?"

"It sounds insane. What're they going to think when I let them know that I have no idea what our last mission was, why we are this far from any planet or starbase, and how an entire crew gets a case of amnesia?"

"Tell the truth. What else can you do?"

Jim groaned. He pulled an arm over his head and stretched it. "I guess…not much else."

His head was still pounding. Jim rubbed his temple, went over to the wall, and pressed the button to call Uhura. "Kirk to bridge," he said.

"B-b-bridge." That was Uhura.

"Uhura, transfer me to Checkov. I need him to do something for me."

"Okay."

"And…stop blubbering. You're the communications officer. Get it together."

Her voice was much harder when she replied. "Yes, Captain."

Checkov was on in the next second. "Da…er…Keptin. Yes?"

"Find ten security members to conduct a search and rescue mission. We're going to search the ship for Commander Spock."

"Aye, aye, sir."

He cut off.

Before he went back up to the bridge, Jim swung by Spock's quarters, just in case. He rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Hey, uh, Spock. If you're in there, open up." A pause. He pounded on the door again. "Dude. It's Jim. As in…your Captain." He started to hit the door with the butt of his palm. "Spock!"

A sharp pain shot through his skull. He recoiled, clutching a hand to his forehead. His eyes squeezed shut.

What was that? A memory? Why was it so painful? Had he done that before—yelled his first officer's name?

Desperation nipped at his mind, flittered in his stomach like a bunch of butterflies. It could be anything. He pounded the door raw, yelling, "Spock! Spock!" several times. For the first time, his head became a bit clearer. It was a relief enough for him to step back from the door. He had no idea why, but for some reason he felt more in control of his thoughts.

Then his headache returned. He looked around him to see several crew members staring at him like he was insane.

"What?" he asked, raising his arms. "Standard procedure, right?"

Calmly, he headed back up to the bridge.

* * *

The security officers scoured the starship. Jim had them check everywhere—bathrooms, private quarters, janitorial closets, cabinets…they even checked the engine room, just to be sure. Spock was nowhere to be found.

And so, after an already arduous day, Jim had to make an arduous call to Star Fleet. He was yelled at extensively over the communicator by his superiors, transferred several times down on planet Earth before he could finally talk to someone who didn't scream at him when he told him their situation.

"Whoa," the unknown admiral said. "That's insane."

"That's what happened," Jim replied, propping his chin on his right fist.

The admiral was quiet for a minute. Then he grunted into the speaker. "Tell ya what," he said.

"What?"

"You and your crew come back home. I'll be here. We'll send out word that your first officer is missing to any starbase within your vicinity. What starbases are in your vicinity?"

Jim couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, admiral, you're funny."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, as you and I both know, there are no starbases near me."

There was a very long pause. It seemed to Kirk that the admiral was checking his location. After a minute more of silence, he came back on. "…So there's not."

When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "Captain Kirk, what the hell was your crew doing?! You obviously weren't sent there by us."

"Yes sir, I know…"

"You were supposed to be coming back from a mission, were you not? A routine one. Dropping off supplies. To a nearby planet. In the _opposite_ direction."

"With all due respect sir, I have no clue what we were _supposed_ to be doing."

"Well, I'm telling you." A pat of sound on the speaker, like he was putting down his hand. "That is what your log says, anyway. Captain, is Commander Spock the only one from your ship that's missing?"

"That I know of," replied Kirk.

"Then I hate to say this, but you're shit out of luck."

* * *

Finally, the Enterprise was on track to Earth. It was night, now, and Jim was tired. He left the bridge behind everyone else, dragging his ass all the way to his quarters. The room was dark—probably the way he'd left it, before all of this shit had happened.

A routine mission.

Jim flopped onto the bed. Cool covers invited him to sprawl out on his back, his hands coming behind his head. The fan was on. Apparently, he'd left this room in a hurry.

Dropping off supplies.

Why'd he leave? Had he been sleeping? His head still ached, a dull, throbbing, consistent pain.

To a nearby planet…

Very vaguely, he remembered this. The mission had gone off without a hitch. Easy as pie. The planet's inhabitants had been very thankful for their supplies and the ease with which they acquired them. He remembered leaving…

…No, he didn't, either. And Spock…Spock…

Jim closed his eyes and groaned. It felt as if his headache had intensified tenfold. His neck rolled to the left.

He remembered how he looked. Quite dignified, really. Dark hair and warm brown eyes. He had been wearing the formal black uniform, firmly pressed, that identified him as one in command. He spoke to the dignitaries with a cool, musical, apathetic tone, back always ramrod straight.

Why did it feel like he'd died? Was there something his mind was keeping from him?

* * *

"Bones, I hate running."

"Yeah, Jim, I get that. And I do too. But you still gotta stay in shape. And aerobic exercise is part of doing that."

It was the day after, and the entire ship was a little uneasy, everyone on board trying to cope with the amnesia. Not a lot of people were in the ship's expansive gym, but those that were exercised vigorously and didn't seem to notice Jim and the doctor. Honestly, McCoy didn't ask Jim to exercise with him that often, and when they did, he didn't seem to stick on to him as much. Maybe he was just as off as everyone else.

Jim did the only thing he could think of doing—let out a huge groan. "Booooones!"

"Come on, don't you want to stay skinny? Get your ass in gear!"

Reluctantly, Jim went over to the treadmills to run. "One mile," he said when he stepped on.

"Two."

"One point five."

"Two point five."

"Shit, Bones!"

"Fine," he conceded. "One point five. No less."

Leonard McCoy turned on his treadmill. He reached over and turned on Jim's as well. The giant machine lurched to life, and Jim picked up his feet and ran.

Almost as soon as he started, another bolt of pain struck through his brain. "Agh!" he said, involuntarily.

"You alright, Jim?"

"Fine," he said, surprised to find that he was telling the truth. The dull ache in his skull seemed to have dissipated with one strike of double-edged pain., He had still had a headache from the night before when he'd woken up this morning. Now it was gone.

Jim ran on the treadmill for a little over fifteen minutes before his breath became heavy and impossible and he realized again why he hated running. He turned it off faster than he should have and stood there for a while, calves trembling. He and the doctor shared a glance. Running was one of his least favorite things to spend a morning doing, and Leonard shared his opinion.

Something, though, was pulling him back toward the treadmill. Damn endorphins.

* * *

Jim took a quick shower and headed up to the bridge. Sulu and Checkov were there, examining their instruments and chatting back and forth. They seemed pretty happy—Sulu made jabs at Checkov's accent while the Russian boy prattled on about Mother Russia. Jim was amused by their conversation but when they turned and asked him what was so funny, he waved it off. He shouldn't have been laughing; their situation was way too critical for that. It surprised him that he was worried about Spock this much, but he couldn't help it. It didn't matter how much the man sometimes annoyed him. Spock was his friend. And to just leave for home, as the admiral had suggested…Well, the whole ordeal made Jim want to turn the starship around and conduct his very own wild goose chase across the galaxy.

But if they had to go home, they had to go home. It was as simple as that.

* * *

A boring but anxious day on the bridge. A thorough investigation was done on all of the ship's logs as well as on the engine instruments. Scotty reported near noon that there was something "off with the engine" but had no evidence to back it up. None of the ship's logs showed anything, either. So still, they were on square one.

The same inexplicable urge to run after he'd just gotten off the treadmill led Jim to the gym again that afternoon. Running helped; he wasn't sure why. But if it helped, by god, he was going to do it.


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry for the massively long wait on this. I'm getting back into it! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Chapter Two

Jim's breaths came out in little huffs, heart pumping with his legs. Looking up at the sun rise on the horizon, Jim felt as if he were running in tribute to the nascent light.

…Or, perhaps, that was just an idyllic thought to get his mind off the lactic acid build-up in his calves. Either way, his legs were burning. _Come on_, he told himself, _Almost there. _He had passed mile two about five minutes ago (maybe three), so he had to be getting close. Right?

He shook his head and wheezed. This was a bad idea. This 5k, that was. He _would_ stop running, _BUT_ he wanted to finish. _So._

This was Jim's first 5k. For the past three months, he had been training for this very moment. McCoy called him insane. Right now he agreed.

His mind focused back on the agony in his legs. His lungs screamed. _Something else! _He thought. _Think about something else!_

He exhaled. Spock.

Spock hadn't shown back up. No one knew anything about his disappearance. It was a vague cloud that hung over the crew like a bad cold. A cold that had no symptoms excepting headaches when you tried to recall the memory of it, which was often. Jim had stopped trying to take medicine for them, and had stopped telling McCoy he was having them. Nothing helped, nothing but running, when his mind was clear and nothing marred it.

It fucking sucked.

Suddenly, the finish line came into view. A clock, digital, stood off to the side. In red digits, it reported: 38:52.

_Yes!_ Jim thought. _I'll finish…_

Suddenly, a flash. Everything went dark. Hit with an abrupt dizziness, the crowd at the finish disappeared…the cheers…their voices…

"_Spock! Spock!" Jim was gasping. He found himself stumbling, disoriented. Something…there was something…_

A bright light. The sensation of falling. He blacked out.

* * *

"Jim! Jim!"

He was being shaken. He was awake, now. What the hell had happened?

"Jim! Damn it, open your eyes!"

Bones, Jim decided. Definitely Bones. Groaning, he opened his eyes.

"Finally. Geez." McCoy's face was inches from his. He moved back to hand him a cold water. Jim opened it and took a sip. "What the hell are you trying to do?!" he scolded.

"I dunno," Jim said, scratching his hair. It was slightly damp. "Sorry."

The doctor shook his head. "Trying to kill yourself is what it is. Damn it, Jim!"

"Did I finish?"

"Did you finish?! That's what you're worried about?!"

"Hell yes! Did I?"

"Barely, but yes. Drink some more water."

He did. "What was my time?"

"I don't know!"

Jim groaned. "You didn't check?"

"I was more worried about you passed on the street! I'm a doctor, not a stopwatch." Wildly, he gestured toward the bottle. "Water, Jim. You're dehydrated."

Jim turned the bottle up and guzzled it until it was empty, screwed on the plastic top to the vacant bottle, and groaned. "I need to pee."

McCoy sighed and shook his head in tacit disapproval. He stood up, then held a hand out to Jim. He took it. The doctor pulled him to his feet.

Twenty minutes later, after Jim had emptied his bladder, he and the doctor sat at some table in some coffee shop in San Francisco. In front of him—a bowl of soup.

"What's this about?" Jim asked. "Ordered for me?"

"Consider it doctor's orders," he said, looking, as usual, gruff, but almost, impossibly, shy.

Jim shrugged and picked up his spoon. The soup was Minestrone, his favorite.

"How'd you know?" he asked. (It only occurred to him later that McCoy was probably only trying to force-feed him liquids.)

McCoy shrugged and turned an almost imperceptible shade of pink. "I think you've mentioned it before."

Maybe he had. Jim took another spoonful. He took account of what Leonard was eating—some sort of salad, that he noticeably was poking at but not eating from.

"Bones?" he asked. "You alright?"

"Course I'm alright!" he snapped, straightening up a bit. "I'm the damn doctor here."

"Yeah, sure. You haven't eaten anything. What's up with that?"

"I'm getting to it," he said. Now it was obvious—his medical officer was blushing. Blushing!

Jim grinned. "Got a fever or something?"

The slightest of smiles graced the man's lips. He laughed humorlessly. "I think I would know if I had a fever."

"Your face is pretty red for not having one."

He looked suddenly startled, his gaze ripping up. "Red? My face is not…" Defiantly, he hugged and picked up his fork, violently stabbing it into and innocent leaf of spinach.

Neither one of them spoke for a while, nursing their food and glasses of water that the waitress had just come by to refill. McCoy broke the silence.

"Jim," he said.

"Uhuh."

"I…uh…" he looked up at the same time as the captain. Their eyes locked. "Wanted…to talk to you. About. Something."

"Sup?"

"Well…" he paused for a while. "I wanted to talk about Spock."

Shit, Jim thought, almost immediately, swallowing hard. Spock.

It had been three months. Spock had not been found. Was likely lost forever. Spock, his first officer, was gone, and nobody knew how or why.

"Look," the doctor said, leaning forwards, towards Jim. "I know you've been having a hard time. But you've also gotten in pretty good shape."

Spock was the reason for that, as well, although Jim would deny this fact to the ends of the universe. Ever since he had poof, vanished, Jim Kirk had cleaned up his act quite a bit. Quite a sobering experience, he'd say. Especially the questioning afterward. That was brutal. Enough to change anyone.

"Anyway," McCoy continued, "I, uh, wanted to tell you that I'm here for you. And, uh…I care for you." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "A, uh, lot."

"I know, Bones," he put down his spoon and reached for his water.

"No, I don't think you do." His voice became strained. "I feel…I haven't felt this way since…"

Jim's hand hovered close to the surface of the table, by his sweating glass. McCoy grabbed it. Jim was mildly surprised.

"Truth is, I like you, Jim. I want you to be happy." His thumb drew circles on Jim's, or one, then stopped. "I want to make you happy. And…"

Jim interjected. "Are you asking me out?"

"Errr…" the doctor suddenly dropped his hand, embarrassed. "Well…maybe. That was the general idea…"

Jim grinned, highly amused. "I love you," he said. "You know that, right?"

Red as a beet, McCoy scratched his neck with one hand. "Uh, no, actually, I didn't."

"Well, now you do." Jim snatched at the man's hand, twining their fingers. McCoy opened his mouth, but did not speak. He looked shocked.

"Let's get out of here," Jim said.

McCoy came back to Earth, his eyebrows hitching together in irritation. "Hell no! Eat your damn soup first!"

* * *

For the rest of the day, Jim and McCoy window-shopped in the nice side of San Francisco. McCoy scowled and drilled Jim on spending his money, but seemed quite happy as long as their hands remained clasped. They returned to the ship that night, and when Jim snuck the doctor into his room, only a couple of crew members saw him do it. They slept—just slept. Lame, but pleasant.

Jim dreamt.

* * *

He was somewhere. Somewhere unknown, but dark. And humid. A solid sixty degrees.

He was running, forwards. It wasn't a nice run, either. It was a desperate dash, one that ripped his legs apart and made his lungs burn.

A light was spreading through the cavern, miniscule at first, then growing exponentially. Jim became dizzy, disoriented…stumbling…gasping…

"Spock!" he was calling, barely aware that he was. "Spock! Spock…!"

* * *

His eyes flew open. He inhaled sharply.

The room was dark, cool, the fan spinning above. McCoy shifted, squeezing him just the slightest bit closer to his chest, settling with a sleepy grunt.

Jim nuzzled into the covers and did the same.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Two happy days later, the Enterprise crew, well rested but neatly dressed, was aboard the ship again and ready to leave the hangar. Their shore leave, sadly, was over.

The bridge seemed as clean as ever when the Captain sat down in his chair. Everyone was at their positions—Checkov at the first officer's post and some kind named Stinson at his old one, navigation. He was still getting used to that.

"So!" Jim said as the hangar door crept open. "Everybody ready for this?"

A disorganized cacophony of "Aye sirs!" answered him. All eyes were on him. Uhura's seemed especially bright, so bright that Jim had to reconsider the conversation he saw between her and Scotty yesterday right before he'd gone off to bed.

"Alright!" Jim said. He turned his attention to the PADD he held in his hand. Scanning the device for the mission briefing, he drummed his fingers on the side of his chair and hummed an old military tune from the U.S. Air Force. "Ah!" he said finally. "Here we go."

He punched his finger into a button on his chair to make an all call.

"Hi everyone. Your captain speaking! We are currently heading to the edge of the Gamma Quadrant to deliver some supplies to new colony planet Nascea. On our way back, we will be conducting research on another planet, newly discovered, to find out if it carries life. Keep in mind, this will be a two day journey. Kirk out!"

* * *

After Jim became "un-busy" (which wasn't long; there wasn't much to do on the Bridge with no emergencies) he escaped down to sick bay to see Bones. _His_ Bones, who was likely unoccupied just like himself. On his way there, he pondered the nickname and how he'd gotten it. He was right, of course, about how the doctor wasn't busy. In fact, he was playing chess with Christine Chapel when he walked in and asked,

"Bones, can I call you Leonard?"

"No." he didn't miss a beat. Nor did he look up. He moved a chess piece.

"No?" Jim went over to the table they were sitting at and leaned on it. "What am I supposed to say when I propose to you? Bones, will you marry me? I've got to get the full effect, see, I want to be able to say your entire name. Ya know. Leonard McCoy. Wait a second." He paused. The doctor finally looked up. "What's your middle name?"

"To hell if I'm tellin' you," he said. "Why aren't you on the Bridge?"

Jim wagged his finger. "No subject changes. Can't you tell me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on!"

Chapel was looking at the couple oddly. She held a chess piece, but did not put it down.

McCoy was smirking now, almost smug. "No," he said simply.

"BonesBonesBones," Jim groaned, slumping to his knees and smashing his forehead into the table. "Tell meeeee."

"You ain't going to hear it. Chapel, your turn."

She shook her head and returned her attention to the board.

A thought occurred to the captain. He whipped his head up. "I'll tickle you if you don't."

"I'm not ticklish," the doctor replied. Christine moved a piece and smiled, saying, "Check."

"You aren't, huh?"

"Nope. Damn, I suck at this game."For a while, his boyfriend stared intently at the board.

Jim Kirk stared at his sides.

Slowly, he straightened up and peeled himself off the table. He walked around behind Leonard's chair and leaned close to his ear.

"Psst."

He grunted.

"Don't move there."

McCoy's hand was hovering over and empty space of board, a horse enclosed lightly in his fingers. He looked up at Jim, incredulous.

"See, you should move it over—"

-Jim quickly reached out and tickled the doctor's sides. He flew up, cursed loudly, and tried to throw a chair between him and his captain, who dodged it, but just barely. He grinned widely in return.

"I thought you weren't ticklish."

Jim lunged forward. McCoy tried to escape but wasn't fast enough. He ended up tripping and falling to the floor.

"Damn it!" he yelled, trying to dart out of reach. He ended up tripping backwards and falling to the floor. Jim dove after him with the agility of a cat, pinning him there. He relentlessly tickled him while Chapel watched her usually serious medical officer dissolve into a puddle of giggles and grins.

"Stop! God, Jim—I swear to God, I'll—You're…hehe…Going to…hehehe—" He grabbed Jim's arms and attempted to throw him off. He failed.

"Tell me, Bones!"

"Ah—hehe—NO!"

He kicked and squirmed. But Jim was determined.

"Booooones!"

"Horatio!" he cried finally, "That's my damn middle name! Now…hehe…get your damn hand…haha…off me!"

Jim stopped. "Not ticklish my aching ass!" he yelled.

Leonard kneed him in the stomach, hard.

"Aah!" he groaned, clutching his waist and falling over to his right. The doctor stoop up, jaw locked, and dusted himself off. Lazily, he turned his attention to Jim. He crouched down at his side and slipped one hand under his neck and the other under his knees. He stood up, executing a perfect one-man carry.

"Leonard!" Jim gasped, squirming and kicking. "Shit! I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to—Put me down!" He tumbled over, falling to the ground.

"Get up!" McCoy said, exasperated.

He pulled himself to his feet. McCoy jabbed a finger into his chest.

"You. Bridge. Now." His thumb pointed to the exit, and Jim quickly retreated there.

* * *

The dream was recurring. The details, however, were more vivid. Jim could clearly tell now that he was in a cave, dark and dank. It felt as if he were fifty miles underground. It also felt like he had been running for a while, a long, long while…

He woke up shaking and hyperventilating, with a feeling of panic. He thought he must be losing his mind.

McCoy was wide awake as well, rubbing his arm and urging him to calm down. He did, eventually, and fell back to sleep.


End file.
